


X, O, Mistletoe

by Mertiya



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mistletoe, No Plot/Plotless, Teen Romance, cliches, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:44:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is upset that Sherlock is leaving and he'll be stuck at school over Christmas after they have a fight.  Sherlock shows up to make amends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	X, O, Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notthewhizkid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthewhizkid/gifts).



> Nigh-plotless fluff as a little Christmas present for notthewhizkid. Silly, fairly cliched, but fun. Enjoy!

 

            John Watson sighed heavily as he mounted the stairs to the Hufflepuff common room.  It was not going to be a happy Christmas.  He paused on the landing. There was something horribly lonely about celebrating Christmas by yourself at boarding school.  His mum was overseas with Harry, Molly’s parents were taking her overseas, and—John rubbed an angry sleeve over his eyes—Sherlock was _such_ a prat.

            It shouldn’t really have been such a bad argument.  Sherlock _always_ sulked when John went anywhere with the rest of the Quidditch team.  But somehow it had ballooned to the point of a shouting match, and John had stormed off, and when he’d gotten back there was a note from Sherlock saying not to bother packing up, he was no longer invited back to Holmes Manor for Christmas.

            “Evening, John,” said Professor Longbottom, passing him in the hall.

            “Oh, hi, Professor,” replied John, looking up.  The herbology professor was John’s favorite professor, and one of his heroes.  He had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts when he was only a few years older than John.  John had sometimes wondered why he didn’t teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was John’s favorite subject.  He had to be pretty good at it.

            “Are you doing all right?  I know it’s not much fun being stuck here over the holidays.”

            “Oh, sure, I’m fine,” John answered, trying to sound upbeat.

            “You know, it’s all right if you’re not.  Quarrelling with friends isn’t a pleasant experience.”

            John glanced up in surprise.  Professor Longbottom had his hands tucked into the pockets of his robes.  “It just happens sometimes.  And it probably seems like the end of the world.  But, John, I’ve seen you two interact.  You care about each other.  At the end of the day, you’re always going to make up.  So try not to worry.”  He laid a hand on John’s shoulder.

            John smiled wanly up at him.  “Sure.  Thanks.  Happy Christmas, Professor.”

            “You too.”  They parted, and John headed on up to the dormitory, where he snapped, “Mistletoe,” before the portrait got out anything more than “P—”

            He shuffled inside and threw himself onto the bed without glancing to either side.  Maybe he’d get a head start on some of his homework.  Could be a good plan.  He groaned and hid his face in his pillow.  He shouldn’t care so much.

            A low cough from the doorway made him sit up.  At first, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  The lanky form outlined against the light shining in from the passageway had to be an illusion.

            “Ah—John,” it said, and John sat up.

            “Sherlock?” he said uncertainly.  “Didn’t you leave already?”

            Sherlock shifted uneasily, his face still hidden by the shadows.  “It—er—came to my attention that I was behaving like a ‘big, fat twat’.  I think those were Miss Hooper’s exact words.  I came to see how you were.”

            “Fine,” John said stonily.  “I’m fine.”  He swallowed and looked away.  “You can go now,” he said after a few minutes.  “You’ll have missed your train.”

            Sherlock took a few hesitant steps into the room.  “John…”

            “What?  You decided that I’m not allowed to have any friends but you, and if I don’t spend every waking minute with you, you’ll just ditch me, right?”

            “That’s not…” Sherlock protested feebly, but John turned his back on him.

            There was another long silence, and John heard the portrait swing back into position.  So Sherlock had left.  Well, good.  He started to lie down again and was startled when Sherlock’s voice said, “Lumos,” and the room lit up.

            “I’m not going home,” Sherlock said from right beside his bed.

            “What?”

            “I don’t much care for the company of most of my relatives in any case, and Mummy will be all right without me for one year.  Besides, you’re here.  You are—meaningful to me, John.”

            John barked out a surprised laugh.  Sherlock wasn’t exactly one for what he called ‘maudlin’ displays of affection, and it seemed more as if they’d been growing apart for the last year, not closer.  Sherlock had seemed so remote and moody—well, worse than he usually was, at any rate.

            “Molly said she would cast an Unforgivable Curse on me if I did not—” Sherlock halted, breathing heavily through his noise.  “John, I have something I need to tell you, and then I will go, if you would like me to.”

            John folded his arms and looked at Sherlock.  “Okay.  I’m listening.”

            Sherlock coughed and shuffled, looked away.  “Ah—I have to admit, I am not adept at—”  He ground to a halt once again, as John continued to look at him accusingly.  “John, I—I have a great deal of respect for you, and I do not wish to lose your friendship—but I—would you allow me to perform an experiment?”

            John rolled his eyes.  “Sherlock, if this was supposed to be an apology, you’re doing a shite job of it.  If you’re just trying to get me to help you out with another one of your bloody experiments, you’ve got another think coming.”

            Sherlock gave a harsh sigh, and abruptly drew his wand.  “ _Viscum album_ ,” he said clearly, giving it a sharp snap, his eyes fixed somewhere above John’s head.  At first, John thought he was trying not to look in his eyes, but then he realized he was actually looking _at_ something.  John followed his gaze in time to see the streams of sparkling energy from the end of Sherlock’s wand coalesce into a shimmering green plant with berries made from bright white light.

            “Sherlock—what—” he started uncertainly, and then Sherlock had crossed the room in two great, nervous strides and awkwardly pressed his lips against John’s.  The instant of contact was brief and quickly over.  Sherlock pulled back almost immediately.  “I-I’ll leave now,” he stammered, his voice shaking in a very un-Sherlockian manner.

            “No wait,” John blurted, not even sure what he was saying.  “Sherlock, please wait.”

            “What?  I’m no fool, John.  I know you are straight, and I don’t wish you to feel as if you’re obligated to respond.  Molly simply goaded me into telling you, and I—I was tired of being jealous and not letting you know.”  Sherlock’s voice was harsh and raw.

            John grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him forward.  He managed to overbalance the other boy, which he hadn’t intended, and Sherlock fell onto the bed, his hands on either side of John’s head, his legs on either side of John’s thighs.  “You’re a twat and a prat and a bloody idiot,” John said.  “I go out with a lot of girls.  That doesn’t make me straight.”

            Sherlock just stared at him, trembling very slightly.  “Are you saying you were _not_ averse to the kiss?” he finally asked.

            “Mmm, let me think—yeah.  Yeah, that’s what I was saying.  Want to do it again?”

            Sherlock made no sound, but he nodded his head very slightly.

            “Good, because I do too,” said John, and then he grabbed the back of Sherlock’s head, twisting his hands almost violently into the dark curls, pulled him down, and smashed their mouths together.  It was a very different kiss from the one before, not quick or innocent at all.  John had his tongue in Sherlock’s mouth in about two seconds, and Sherlock started gnawing on his lip, and the two of them rolled over and then over again on the small bed, limbs tangled until they were in an almost indistinguishable knot.           

            John found himself kissing down Sherlock’s long, elegant throat, and Sherlock gasped when he did and writhed against John, before reaching down to cup his chin and pull him back into the kiss.  He ran his long, lithe fingers down the inside of John’s wrist, and it was John’s turn to gasp and wriggle.

            “I’ve gone _way_ too long without doing this,” he said fiercely. 

            “Yes,” Sherlock breathed against his ear.  “I had no idea you would be so receptive, or I’d have tried this months ago.”

            “Well, maybe if you’d said something like ‘John, don’t go out with the Quidditch players so we can snog instead,’ I’d have listened better.”  John’s hand snaked down Sherlock’s back, not quite daring to do more than brush the top of his jeans. 

            “I regret that,” Sherlock murmured, and he rolled off John to curl against his side—and that was bloody miraculous, Sherlock Holmes curled up beside him almost like a normal person—and then he continued, “Still.  I assume your ridiculous romanticism probably feels that the date somehow makes this more special?”

            John could feel his face heating up.  “Maybe a little bit.  Can we snog some more tomorrow?  Can that be my Christmas present?”

            Sherlock actually laughed and—another miracle!—leaned over and kissed John’s cheek.  “Only if I can request the same.  Happy Christmas, John.”

            John pulled Sherlock into a fierce hug, reflecting on how quickly a day could go from miserably awful to the best one so far in your life.  “Happy Christmas, Sherlock.”

 


End file.
